Two O'Clock Heist: A Rebecca Mayfield Mystery (The Rebecca Mayfield Mysteries Book 2) by Joanne Pence Page A

Wong’s lips tightened a moment. “We know Karen Larkin once worked for the SFPD, and so you’re naturally interested in this case. But she worked there a long time ago—”
    “Not all that long,” Rebecca countered.
    “Whatever.” He sounded beyond disinterested, and no longer tried to hide his unhappiness that the Big City Inspector had shown up. “The case appears to be a domestic dispute—perhaps even a fight among thieves. Expensive jewelry was found in her home. And her boyfriend has disappeared. We suspect he was involved, probably the killer.”
    “Was there any evidence of something more happening?” Rebecca asked. “A break-in? Was anything taken?”
    “Who could tell? The victim lived on a maintenance-challenged floating home. There wasn’t much to take.”
    Rebecca’s eyes narrowed. “ In other words, a run-down houseboat.”
    She noticed Richie’s wince.
    “We prefer our own terminology.” Wong looked down his nose at Rebecca as if she were some sort of low-life.
    She took a deep breath. The detective’s attitude rankled. She reminded herself to be nice, and that Wong might not actually be the person she should be talking to. Since most county towns were small, detectives with knowledge and training to handle horrific crimes such as murder were centralized in the County Sheriff’s Department. “Are you handling the case, or was it given to Marin County investigators?”
    His chin jutted up and out. “Investigation’s Adult Crimes Unit is in charge on paper since we’re understaffed. On paper , Deputy Sheriff Mike Vargas has the case, but in actuality, I’m the one with the lead on it.”
    “So you’re still investigating it?” Rebecca asked.
    “Of course.”
    Her eyebrows rose as her eyes slowly passed over his nearly empty desk.
    Wong puffed up like someone itching to make an arrest … of her … and to throw away the key.
    “What a great photo!” Richie blurted, pointing at a framed portrait on Wong’s desk of Wong and a tall, blond male, late 20’s, early 30’s, surrounded by flowers, their arms around each other’s waist. Behind them was the San Francisco Bay with the city far in the distance. Both wore shiny, matching rings on their left hands. “Are congratulations in order?”
    Rebecca glared at Richie for asking a personal question.
    For the first time, however, Wong smiled. “Well, yes, they are.” He ran his finger along the top of the frame as if to wipe off the merest speck of dust. “The happiest day of my life.”
    “Where was it?” Richie asked. “It looks beautiful.”
    “Oh, it was. The wedding took place on Angel Island, and our reception was in Tiburon. We booked an entire ferry to take our guests back and forth from the island to the reception. Cost a king’s ransom, but worth every penny. At one time my ancestors would have been detained on that island. Chinese immigrants weren’t welcome here. And now, I was able to marry the man I love in that very spot.” He sighed. “Pretty wonderful, I think.”
    “So do I.” Richie held out his hand. “Congratulations, sir.”
    “Thank you so much.” They shook hands.
    Rebecca impatiently waited for them to finish. “Congratulations,” she murmured. “I spoke to your husband yesterday.”
    “Yes. He told me.”
    She noticed he didn’t apologize for not calling her back. “If I may, I’d like to see the crime scene investigator’s report.”
    Wong cast her a hard look, and Richie sat back in his chair. She was sure Richie gave Wong one of those “male-bonding” eye contacts that she hated. She just might end up shooting him one of these days.
    “Sorry. That isn’t possible,” Wong told her.
    She now fantasized about shooting him as well. Through gritted teeth she asked, “Why not?”
    “It’s not public information.”
    Those words were nothing but a slap. Inter-departmental cooperation could be granted, and would have allowed her to look at the report.
    “What about Yuri